


The Things We Forget

by MaxWrite



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things we forget aren't always things that don't matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for _Grey Matters_ and beyond.

"Astro!" Walter exclaimed as he hurried into the living room. Peter had stepped out to spend some time with Olivia that evening. He'd insisted it wasn't a date and Walter hadn't bothered to argue or even hint that he thought otherwise, like he normally would have. Perhaps it wasn't a date; Walter knew it would take a while for the two of them to get back on track and he wasn't about to try to hurry them along, not after what they'd both been through.

Ast … Astra … Agent Farnsworth had stopped by to keep Walter company. Walter didn't need to be babysat, not for a few short hours at any rate, but Agent Farnsworth had said she had some work to do and needed Walter's help with some of it, so here she was. Walter rather liked having her there anyway. It was nice to have someone to talk to, someone that actually existed. Not that the occasional voices weren't entertaining.

She was perched on the edge of the sofa with her laptop on the coffee table, the bluish glow from the screen lighting up her face as she leaned close. She had the most interesting little mole on the left side of her face. Walter had been keeping an eye on it since they'd met. It didn't appear to be cancerous.

She looked up from her screen, her face questioning. As he approached her, he dipped his finger into the creamy mixture in the large mixing bowl he had clutched to his chest. He extended that finger as he drew nearer, a small dollop of batter dripping onto her bare foot.

"I need you to taste this," he said.

She glanced down at the dollop on her foot, then back up at his finger, her expression now more skeptical than questioning. Her large, brown eyes popped up to look at his face. "We've been through this before, Walter," she said as she reached for a tissue from the box sitting on the side table.

"I'm sorry?"

"This," she said as she leaned over to wipe the dollop off her foot. "You make me taste something and it's horrible because it has something bizarre in it, like cough syrup. No, Walter, I am not your culinary guinea pig."

"This one is perfectly normal, I promise you. Now, it's imperative that I keep stirring this mixture, so I need you to taste it for me so I can get back to it."

"Why can't you taste it?"

"I _have_. I'm afraid my taste buds have grown accustomed to the flavor, I can't quite tell anymore if there's too much nutmeg. I need a fresh palette."

She sighed and smiled at him. "What's my name?"

"Eh?"

"Say my name properly and I'll taste it for you."

"Oh." He retracted his hand. "Did I not say it right a moment ago?"

She shook her head, then sat back and crossed her arms, waiting. Walter frowned down into his bowl as he considered. He began to pace, sticking his batter-covered finger into his mouth and sucking it clean as he thought.

"Let's see," he said. "What did I call you before?"

"Astro."

"And that's definitely wrong?"

"Yes, Walter."

"Huh … it starts with an A … then an S … There's a T next, yes?"

"Yes, Walter. And no, it's not Astral, either."

"Oh … Aster?"

"No, but close."

Walter began stirring his batter again. "It's not Aslan," he muttered to himself. "No T in that. It's not Ascot." He giggled to himself. "That would just be silly, wouldn't it?"

"Very. Unlike Aslan, which makes _perfect_ sense."

He paused and glanced at her with narrowed eyes. She merely raised her eyebrows at him as if to say "Well?"

"One day," she said, "you are going to have to remember my name with some kind of regularity. You remember Farnsworth just fine, so how can Ast … I mean, my first name be so much more difficult? Don't get me wrong, I'm not insulted. I never have been. And I've stopped being annoyed by it and even find it endearing sometimes."

"Then why the guessing game?" Walter asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I feel as though you're just not trying hard enough sometimes. You can do amazing things, Walter. This is just a name."

Walter wanted to argue that because it was just a name, perhaps that was why his brain refused to grasp onto it with any consistency, but that wasn't the case. This was Agent Farnsworth. She wasn't just anybody, she was his friend, someone he cared deeply for. He was comfortable with her. He could spend hours in her company and never find her tedious. It _was_ insulting that he forgot her name more often than he remembered it, considering how much she meant to him. She had a right to be annoyed and it was simply a testament to her character that she was so patient with him. She was a lovely young woman. He was lucky to have her friendship.

He sighed as these thoughts went through his head, guilt and frustration building up inside him. He could remember Olivia's name just fine. He even remembered that Agent Broyles' first name was Phillip, so why on earth could he almost never remember that Agent Farnsworth's first name was …

He paused, his eyes widening as he looked at her again.

"ASTRID!" he suddenly cried, making her cringe, half from fright and half to try and avoid the batter that went flying off the wooden spoon when Walter yanked the spoon from the bowl and pointed it up as though using it as a literal exclamation point. She slowly uncurled herself, glancing in shock at the globs of thick, gooey batter now strewn across the backrest of the sofa just to her right. She then looked up at Walter with her mouth hanging open.

Walter stammered as he lowered his spoon, looking sheepish. "Sorry," he said. "I got a little excited."

To his relief, a smile slowly spread across Astrid's face and she began to giggle. She relaxed and sat forward, smiling up at him. "I knew you could do it," she said. She then parted her lips and waited, pointing to her mouth to indicate that Walter could feed her now.

"Oh!" Walter said, finally remembering why he'd come in here in the first place. He put the spoon back in the bowl and dipped his finger in again to load it with batter. He then approached and offered it to her. She watched him with trusting eyes as she accepted it and closed her lips around it.

He watched her face carefully as she tasted. Her eyes dropped down away from his face, and at first she frowned, but she didn't stop tasting; he could still feel her tongue lapping at his fingertip. She finally released his finger, still frowning, then looked up at him again in what looked like disbelief.

"Well?" Walter asked.

"Walter … that is really good."

He smiled, relieved. "Excellent."

"I'm impressed, there's nothing weird about it – wait." She narrowed her eyes at him. "There's nothing weird about it, right?"

"No, no, dear, nothing this time." He took a seat next to her. "Astrid, there's something I think I need to explain."

Her expression softened. "Is this about my name? Because that's okay, Walter. You've had parts of your brain removed and you're still the most brilliant person I've ever met. A few slips here and there can be forgiven."

"No, I _need_ to say this to you." He took a breath. "You may have noticed that there are times when I need to remember something important and simply can't, while other times, when it's not important, information comes to me quite easily. It's strange, isn't it? It's like we all have this trapdoor inside our heads where we keep our memories. When we really want something from inside, it's almost as if the very weight of our need keeps the door shut, holds it down."

Astrid nodded. "I know what you mean."

He nodded too. "Yes. It's a strange phenomenon, and I am pleased to note that it's not only myself who is affected by it. However, I do realize that it happens to me more than most." He sighed. "And that, Astrid, is why I believe I have such a difficult time remembering your name."

She cocked her head.

"I can remember Peter's name easily because, well, he's Peter. I couldn't forget him if I tried. I can remember Olivia's name easily because, while she is also very dear to me, she's still somewhat removed from me. She is important, but not like Peter. And not like you. You are special. Your importance in my life is different than that of my son, but more than that of a friend."

She raised her eyebrows at him, looking surprised at his words.

"You are important in a way that is … _weightier_ than most. I think I continue to forget your name in the same way that thinking about something for extended periods can make it turn fuzzy and indistinct in your mind, the way saying a word over and over can make it lose meaning, the way looking at a picture too closely can make it impossible to identify the image."

"You think about me a lot, Walter?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "You are important to me, Astrid. I forget your name because I want so desperately to remember it."

She smiled at him, her eyes shining in the soft lamplight. "Walter … that's the sweetest thing …" Words seemed to fail her, so instead she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She lingered there, her hand coming up to touch his opposite cheek, and a moment later the kiss found his mouth. He froze, barely daring to purse his lips against hers. Her perfume smelled faintly fruity, he noted, and made him think of blueberries.

When she pulled back, she still looked terribly touched in a way that made her cheeks flush. "Come on, let's finish your baking together," she said, patting his thigh and then standing up.

He watched her walk away, still a little in shock. He wanted to say something, opened his mouth to do so, but then it was gone, just like that, like a feather on the wind. He deflated a little, then stood too and shuffled after her, saying instead, "And I'm quite pleased that you don't have cancer."

She glanced back at him with a frown. "Um … thanks, Walter."

END


End file.
